Fallen Leaves
by buttons413
Summary: She had nothing truly in common with them, except for circumstances. But, sometimes, that's all that's needed.
1. Not There Yet

Author's Note: Constructive criticism is loved, and what I wish for on stars. And eyelashes. And palindromic times of the day.

"I love being a writer. What I can't stand is the paperwork." -Peter De Vries

I don't own Newsies.

A steam bath of human body odor and malice. That's what Aidan McDermott had named her work place. A name that she had steadily laiden with contempt and a sense of exhaustion throughout her years of work at Keller's Textile Company. There she spent her hours quickly trying to dance her fingers around the dangers of the machines. Keller's Textile Company. Well that's what the man who ran the place liked to call it. As though by giving it such a fancy name improved the state of the inside. It was a small building located behind his more grand establishment and it held about sixty workers and several rows of thunderous machines. She would arrive every morning at 6 and would leave twelve hours later, exhausted and feeling very sour.

It was only because of her thin, rather bony, and long fingers that she'd even gotten the job. The man who ran the place may be disgusting, crude and, in her own mind, the spawn of the devil, but he knew when an opportunity came. She worked with the more high powered machines, taking the place of a petite seven year old girl who had been either moved to a new position or fired. Aidan wasn't sure which but partially hoped it was the latter. Either way, she'd been working there for two days and was eagerly anticipating the payday.

As she joined the line for the front desk she felt her eyelids drop as though bricks had been glued to her eyelashes. Walking forward numbly she repeatedly had to mutter a 'sorry' to the person in front as she constantly ran into their back.

"Next!" The man barked, his gravely voice wearing on her already perturbed thoughts. She blinked and looked around, noticing vaguely that she was next and she stumbled forward. Thank god she had finally reached her one day off that week. Maybe it would offer her the chance for some real rest since her legs felt as though they were made of crumbling wood.

"Aidan McDermott." She fought to get the words out, raising her light brown eyes up to look the man in the face.

"McDermott. Pieces o' cloth," he flipped through the small black book before him, his fat finger traveling down the list of names. Beside each one she could read the daily output records. "Seventeen." She smiled wearily at her success. "Fifteh cents a piece, an' 20 seams at 10 cents. Means ya made ten dollars an' fifteh cents." A wide beam broke out over her face and she quickly dropped her head to hide it.

"Take away three spools o' thread. Six dollahs. Machine costs, thirty-five cents an hour." The smile immediately disappeared and her head shot up.

"Wait. What?" She demanded harshly.

He seemed to either not hear her or not care because he continued to speak, a smug grin on his face. "That means," he drawled, leaning forward and causing Aidan to step back with disgust. "Here's yer pay." He slammed three dimes on the table and leaned back into his chair, sniffing and scratching his stomach. Aidan stared at the dimes and frowned before she grabbed them and left feeling more and more cheated as the seconds passed.

Stepping out into the empty back road she glared at the wall. 'So much for pay,' she sighed and looked down at the three dimes in her palm. They were stained with soot and dirt and what she noticed to be a little blood from her hands where she hadn't been fast enough. Sighing heavily she accepted the fate and wondered if her new landlord would mind giving her some extra time for her to gather the money for the first payment. He seemed nice enough, she supposed and decided it wouldn't hurt to ask next time she ventured towards her home.

As her anger began to whittle away she shoved the money in the waistband of her plain brown dress, securing it in the folds and making a mental note to figure out a better way to keep her money with her. Perhaps a purse, if she could afford one later. She made her way through the secluded streets until she heard the familiar chirp of commotion not too far away. Picking up her pace, she entered the street and quickly joined the rhythm of the late night crowd.

She decided to amuse herself and followed a couple as they walked down the street. The young woman seemed middle class with a nice dark blue dress that skimmed the ground. Her heels made a melodic beat on the sidewalk as she walked quietly beside a man. He seemed well dressed from what she could see, with a simple suit and neat brown hair.

"Bryan, you really think these boys can do something?" The woman's voice couldn't mask the uncertainty that Aidan thought to be rather insulting. Bryan seemed to think nothing of it and instead laughed lightly.

"They seem to have good leaders. Jack has the respect and David has the smarts." He explained calmly. Aidan fell back a few steps and averted her attention to a store window as they paused as a corner. 'Leaders? Boys?' Aidan couldn't help but mull over what she heard with faint excitement. At least something interesting what going on besides the blasted trolley strike.

"Besides, I haven't had much else to cover and this newsie strike could be important. No one else is covering it." Bryan continued to explain as he wrapped an arm around the girls waist and escorted her across the street in full gentlemen fashion. Aidan took a step to follow but decided against it as she felt her stomach growl. After giving one last glance at the pair she turned in the opposite direction and continued to wander.

Down the street her nose instantly picked up on the smell of fresh bread and she felt her eyes close in euphoria. Regardless of the fact that such wonderful smells came from expensive food she wandered after it and stood outside the bakery, scanning the window display ravenously. If only looking at food gave you a taste, she thought to herself as she smiled slightly. When she glanced up into the shop she realized the baker was standing behind the counter, obviously annoyed by her poor state and the grime her hands left on his polished windows.

Instantly she stepped away and shuffled two doors down, past a book store to a smaller bakery. Upon entering she noticed sadly that the ambient smells weren't nearly as delectable, but as she looked at the price for bread she remembered a saying. 'Beggars can't be choosers.'

Well she might not be able to be a picky person but she certainly would make sure she didn't get the bread that seemed iced with green mold. I'm not that poor, she thought as she pointedly picked out a different, slightly more expensive, bread. Yet.


	2. Seizing

Author's Note: Point out any inconsistencies. Please. ) I'll make up a rhyme at some point about telling me what I'm doing wrong. Or maybe I'll write a song. Haha. Wrong, song. ...Okay, maybe it's not so funny.

Newsies not mine.

Thank you for the small things you pointed out, Elyse. :) And thanks to the other reviewers for the encouragements.

* * *

The walk to her apartment was silent, leaving her to contemplate the heavy stench in the humid air and the monotonous creaking of carriages through the streets. The buildings shed their lush paint, intact windows and decorations in nuances as she shuffled down the street, picking at her bread to scrape away the dense mold spots. Turning a corner, she glimpsed the Brooklyn Bridge and pondered briefly visiting her friend, Emma Kleid. Emma had worked next to Aidan in the factory for almost three months before an accident had bit her arm, snapping it in two places and tearing off almost three fingers completely. She'd been fired before the blood had even set and ended up moving to Brooklyn to take a job working behind a counter of some store.

Aidan lived close enough to the Brooklyn Bridge that Emma's move didn't sting too much, but she had yet to visit. Popping a piece of bread in her mouth and forcing it down, Aidan resolved to visit her some time in the future. It was as good a promise as she could manage--in part because she hated making definitive statements.

Her building greeted her with blank windows and an open door, a mouth ready to swallow her into its rat and cockroach infested stomach. She muscled the rest of her bread down hastily before opening the door and ascending the precarious steps, one hand on the splintered railing. A door creaked open on the bottom floor and Aidan stopped. So close, she thought sourly as her eyes rested on the shadow growing on the wall.

Her landlord appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a candle throwing shadows into definitive contrasts across his round face.

"Ya got paid today, yeah?" She nodded and descended the stairs carefully until she stopped in front of him. He held a hand out, palm up, waiting. She dug into the folds of her sash--her heart halting for a second when she felt nothing--and pulled out the coins she had left over. His thick fingers snapped around the coins instantly, and Aidan returned to climbing up the stairs.

Reaching the second floor, she heard him call up, "Didn't make much, did ya?" She pretended to not hear him. "Don't forget you owe me more, yeah? I'll be waitin'." Figured that, she thought sourly as she climbed up the following two flights of stairs to her apartment. The lock on the door was broken; so much so that she had to ram her shoulder into the door to drive it open.

When she entered her roommates greeted her with varying levels of smiles. In the one bedroom apartment, with a small closet kitchen and a bathroom in the hall that they shared with the other apartments, there lived Aidan and a seven member, immigrant family from some country she couldn't remember. All she knew was that only the two youngest children spoke English, and poorly. And that the grandmother fawned over her appearance.

She gave out meager waves and smiled as she stumbled towards her mat on the floor, beneath the window, and curled up under her blanket.

* * *

"Strike! Strike!" The chant could barely rise above the dense commotion of the market street, but Aidan latched onto it, faintly reminded of what she'd overheard the day before. She followed the noise diligently until she came upon a square. Boys clustered and swarmed around a statue of a sitting man, and Aidan noticed one held a sign that read, "strike." One boy prompted a passing couple for a few coins, but was silently rebuked.

Aidan paused on the sidewalk, studying them carefully. A group of boys huddled around the base of the statue, evidently engrossed in something entertaining as they randomly broke into bouts of laughter and yelling. Her feet itched to carry her across the street to join, but her empty pockets and lacking certainty reminded her how foolish that would be; however, the sight of the boy asking another man for money to "support the newsie strike, mista" inspired Aidan to drop to the ground.

She scratched through the dirt, searching the crevices between the stones and peeking under and all around parked carriages. Finally, her finger brushed against a penny hidden in the mud on the curb. She wiped the grime away with a victorious grin and happily strode over to the boy.

It wasn't until the boy caught sight of her, hand raised and penny clasped between two fingers, and laughed that she realized how stupid she must look. Her search had given the perfect opportunity for dirt to latch onto her. Not to mention how purposefully she strode over to the boy, only to drop a penny into his hand. Her shoulders dropped as another boy, who had turned to see what had caused such amusement, joined in the laughter.

"Heya, fellas! What're you laughin' at?" One of the boys at the statue stood up and peered over.

"Nothin', Race!" The first boy replied with a grin. Aidan felt intensely inclined to ask for her penny back. "Sorry," he continued to her. "I was just wonderin' what you were lookin' for before. Didn't realize it you were gonna give it to us." Aidan's face flushed and her eyes widened. He had seen her searching. Oh, lord above, she prayed suddenly, run me over with a carriage.

"I'm Snipeshooter." The boy stuck out his hand, and Aidan reluctantly shook it. Doesn't matter anyway, she admitted silently, it's not like I can get any dirtier. Snipeshooter gave her a friendly smile and pointed to the boy who had briefly joined in the laughter before. "That's Pie-eater." She nodded in his direction, and he waved before energetically asking for donations from a passing man.

It took her a moment to realize why Snipeshooter seemed to be waiting expectantly. "Oh." She ran her hand up and down her arm, trying to release the nerves of embarrassment. "I'm Aidan…McDermott." He nodded.

"Well, thank you for givin' money to the newsie strike, miss."

Before she could stop she blurted, "why are you strikin'?" Probably should've figured that out before I gave 'em money, she thought sarcastically.

"'Cause Pulitzer jacked up the price on our papes!" Aidan couldn't help but return a wide grin to his energetic words.

"Do you think you'll win?" she asked. She had heard of the ceaseless trolley strike from the newsies near the factory.

Snipeshooter nodded resolutely. "Of course we will! Cowboy's over talkin' to Brooklyn now 'bout strikin' and he says we'll win. Make Weasel cry, we will, for winnin'." He laughed and Aidan added a weak chuckle, unaware of what joke there was but feeling compelled to pretend regardless.

"Snipes, what're you doin'?" The young man, Race, Snipeshooter called him, strolled over, a cigarette in his mouth.

"Nothin'." Snipes was quick to defend. "Just talkin' to Digger, here." At the name she turned around, scanning the general vicinity for another person. Digger? Her stomach dropped into a vat of annoyance and disappointed reality when she realized the fact: he was talking about her. Digger? She thought incredulously. What kinda name is Digger? It's Aidan! A-i-d-a-n. I introduced myself! Lost in her rambling thoughts, she needed a moment to leap back into reality where the two boys watched her curiously.

"You look a little funny. Are you gonna vomit?"

These boys had no idea how to talk to a lady, Aidan decided. Then again, she glanced down at her skirt and saw dark smudges painted across the fabric. I guess I'm not really a lady. She nodded and added a smile to reassure them.

"Sorry. I just didn't realize I was Diggly-"

"Digger."

"Right. Digger." A nickname wouldn't have annoyed at all, in fact would have been welcomed with warm soup, had it been something exquisite, endearing or elegant. Like Lady or Butterfly or Holy Woman Who Is Gorgeous, she mused. The amusing thoughts brought a grin to her face and the newsies relaxed, evidently taking it to mean that she found the name somewhat funny or adorable.

"Digger," Race began, gesturing to the statue with a cocky grin. "Do you know how to play craps?"

* * *

She did not know how to play craps. Nor could she grasp the concepts. Race, Racetrack as she learned his full name, appeared to find her confusion quite entertaining and constantly offered to spot her a few coins to join the game. She replied, with a light grin, that she wasn't going to borrow money just to lose it to him and instead watched from the sidelines. She occasionally peeked over Racetrack's shoulder, trying to predict what would come next and, jokingly, make disappointed noises when he finally did roll the dice.

After one such sigh Racetrack turned to her. "Do you wanna play, or not?" She chuckled and shook her head. "Then what're you doin', sighin'?"

"I dunno what you're talkin' about," Aidan replied lightly, matching the ghost of a grin on his face. He rolled his eyes and returned to the game. She would've worried about annoying him except that he struck her immediately as laid back. She stood up, glancing around the square. One on hand she weighed the desire to meet other newsies while the other hand held the weight of possible embarrassment or cold-shoulders. Racetrack had introduced her to the others in--or around--the craps game: Les, Skittery, Kid Blink and Mush (introduced her as Digger, as well). Maybe I could find another penny, she thought lightly.

Mush and Kid Blink pulled out of the game and stood up, falling into casual conversation. She settled back down on the ground, accepting that she was not yet able to stand on her own in the new environment, and resumed watching the game. Racetrack's like my mother now, she thought with repressed laughter.

Racetrack noticed her shoulder's shake and raised an eyebrow. "You 'kay, Digger?" She swallowed the lingering chuckles and nodded. She decided it best not to tell the young man of how she pictured him in woman's clothing.

On the other hand…she allowed a brief grin on her face and said, "Have you ever thought of wearing women's clothing?" Racetrack threw his dice at that moment, and Aidan giggled as Skittery complained about one of them hitting him in the face.

"What?" The boy's voice rose in surprise, prompting Aidan to laugh for a split second. "Where's this comin' from? I don't wear no girl's clothes." Les chuckled from his spot on the ground.

"No where," Aidan replied quickly. "Just wonderin'." Queer looks came at her from four directions: Racetrack, Skittery, Kid Blink and Mush (the last two appeared to have abruptly joined the conversation when they heard Racetrack's indignation). Les, Aidan noticed with relief, appeared amused. I bet he's picturin' it, she thought.

"You is odd," said Mush with a short laugh. "You should come 'round more."

"Come 'round where?" Skittery broke in, rolling the dice. "We gonna be homeless soon 'nough with this strike." A silence crept in with the breeze and nestled amongst the group.

Next to Aidan, Les giggled and he whispered to her, "Racetrack should wear pink."

* * *

As the sun clambered up into the sky the heat built with repressive blocks of humidity. Aidan excused herself, promising that she would visit the Lodging House if possible, and began to stroll away. She smiled to a sweet-looking boy with curly hair and a crutch on her way across the square, and resolved to keep good on her promise to visit.

A general commotion arose as she walked away and, for a moment, she earnestly feared that the newsies were celebrating her departure. As she turned around and peered back at the statue on tiptoe, she realized that the newsies were greeting three others. She sidled back across the street towards the statue and managed to hear a few words. Something about Brooklyn, spots, a game and crunching, she deciphered.

An indistinct chatter rose amongst the group and Aidan watched as one boy moved away from the group. He perused the outskirts of the statue, momentarily pausing to hold Les, and began to speak aloud. She watched as he proceeded to awaken the group of boys, uniting them with a call to "seize the day."

Aidan smiled as boys began to jump from the railings. The boy must be their leader, she mused. From what she could see, he struck her as cute with dark curly hair and nice features. The more he spoke the more energetic the group became until they unanimously started to jump, climb and dance around the square. On either side of her, people paused to watch them. One mother nudged her daughter softly and pointed to Racetrack as he danced down the middle, joined by Mush. Aidan grinned. She was involved no more than a penny's worth, she knew, but she felt a kind of pride through association.

At the end a bell clanged in the distance and a young man yelled, "anybody hear that?" to which everyone shouted "no!" In an instant the group became a rushing torrent towards the distribution center. Aidan leaned over the railing to peer in and saw the space filled with the newsies.

What started as an apparently contained gathering quickly erupted into a jumble of movement, flying paper and war cries. Aidan watched in amusement as a cart tumbled over and the boy filled the air with newspaper confetti.

Whistles squeaked as three policemen bounced in. Immediately, the boys spilled back into the square and scattered. Aidan watched in transfixed horror as the last boy, the one she had smiled to earlier, hobbled towards the gate where the policemen came to a rest. The horses blocked her view but by the time they trotted away, the boy was gone.

She stepped forward tentatively, careful to sidestep the suited man who stood near the gate, and waded through the lake of newspapers. She bent down and picked up the crutch.

"Excuse me." The man from the gate stepped forward. "Are you a newsie, too?"

Aidan stared at him warily. "No," she replied slowly. "I work at a cloth place. Why?" The man paused, one hand on his hip.

"Well, I was wondering why you came to get the crutch." Makes sense, Aidan acknowledged silently.

"I…Uh…I was going to return it to him. I met some of them and I know where the lodging house is." I think, she added. He paused and stroked his chin for a second before fixing her with an attentive look.

"He probably won't be released there," he pointed out, leaving the girl to flush at the fact. "He'll probably be at the Refuge." He paused. "Do you know where that is?"

For some reason entirely lost upon her, Aidan nodded resolutely and stuck her chin out. "Of course I do." With that she marched through the gates--though forced by her conscience to turn around and quickly mutter a "nice to meet you."


	3. Impressionistic Night

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! Hope everything's going well. I finally got back to Panera so I can upload this. Anyway...hm...Oh. Chapters three and four were originally written as one but I decided to split them up. Hopefully, that was the right choice.

I don't own newsies. Yet. Ya never know. Haha.

* * *

"Come on, Emma! Please? I don't know where it is, and I have to get this to him!" Aidan pleaded, only one syllable away from getting on her knees and groveling.

The girl, looking thoroughly uninterested, leaned on the counter. "Why should I?" She inquired blankly, studying her nails. Glancing at Aidan she added, with a grin, "You sweet on 'im?" Aidan's eyes widened to the size of saucers and she sputtered denials. "Hold your horses, Aidan," Emma said with a roll of her eyes. "You jus' want 'em to like you. I know you ain't sweet on 'im."

Aidan gave her a flat stare before grinding out, "will you help me or not?"

Emma sighed heavily, twirling a lock of dark hair around her pinkie, before nodding. "Why not? I could use with the exercise. 'sides, you wouldn't go in unless I came with you." A fair point, Aidan noted with a nod.

Emma left the shop in the hands of "a very capable twelve year old" and briskly led Aidan through the Brooklyn streets. Brooklyn seemed just as dirty, if not more so, than Manhattan

After several turns away from what Aidan felt was the right path, she finally asked, anxiously, "where are we going?"

Emma glanced at her casually. "To get my boy." Aidan stopped in the road and sent her a questioning stare. "What? You didn't think I knew a lot 'bout the Refuge, did ya?" Emma waved away Aidan's shrill whine and continued, "Still, Dots might." Aidan snorted at the name but quieted under Emma's challenging stare.

As they continued through the streets, Aidan felt a persistent tugging at her mind. And every time she tried to follow the string back through her thoughts she came to the name of Emma's boy, Dots. Had she heard that name before? She closed her eyes, tempted to hit her forehead with the boy's crutch, and tried to remember where she had heard people speaking about dots. It seemed like a completely pointless and foolish conquest through her memories (not to mention the fact that Emma was then forced to lead her through the streets by her sleeve) but she was unwilling to let go.

Finally, with a triumphant shout that drew a few stares, Aidan realized with relief why it sounded so familiar. The newsies in the square had been talking about dots! And other things, she thought, but I'm not going to try and remember all of that. They must've been talking about her boy then, Aidan decided. She wondered what the odds were that she could figure out what the newsies had been talking about from Dots. Her curiosity piqued and she raced past Emma.

"Oi! You don't know where you're goin', ya twit!" Aidan screeched to a halt and waited in shame for Emma to catch up. "Idiot," Emma muttered with a roll of her eyes. Dots was a nice, fit young man with so many freckles he looked almost tan. He shined shoes mostly, he told Aidan, gesturing to the box he carried under his arm and the various tools resting preciously on top, and occasionally sold papes. When she asked him about his meeting with the newsies he laughed loudly.

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" He asked through lingering chuckles.

Aidan's face took on a crimson hue. "They said somethin' 'bout dots and a game and Brooklyn," she managed to get out.

Both took a moment of silence before Emma snapped her fingers. "Spot! Not Dot. Spot." She elongated the last word much to Aidan's annoyance. "He's a newsie."

Aidan shook her head faintly. "It wasn't spot. It was Dots."

"Spot."

"I know it was plural at least," Aidan stated in a blank tone. "Dots." She made an extra 's' sound and continued it throughout Emma's protesting.  
"There ain't a Spots here!" Emma replied. "I would know! I live here! There's Dots and there's Spot! There ain't no Spots." She groaned. "And why did you decide to get a backbone about this?" Aidan ceased her constant consonant.

"What's you three yellin' 'bout?" The three members turned to see a young man standing in front of them, a gold tipped cane in one hand and a regal smirk on his face. "You're on my docks."

Dots tipped his hat immediately before nudging Aidan in the ribs. "Spot."

Aw, to hell with it, Aidan thought sourly, there goes the backbone.

As Aidan found out, Spot was probably the one the newsies had gone to see. "Probably" meaning that he wouldn't tell her anything other than "yes, I am the King of Brooklyn" and "yes, those are my docks, girl." Dots told her she was lucky because he at least said something affirmative to her. Aidan replied morosely that she owed her luck to the presence of him and Emma, both of whom Spot knew from beforehand.

The sun was stepping down the rungs of the sky by the time Dots got them to the gates of the Refuge. Aidan peered in through the bars of the gate, eyes following the brick wall up to the barred windows.

"You sure you still wanna do this?" Emma questioned under her breath. Aidan glanced over at her and grasped the bars of the gate.

"Yes," she breathed. Emma shrugged and pulled her away from the gate to the curb. Aidan thought about asking what purpose walking away from the refuge served but thought better of it after a second. Emma hadn't done her wrong to that day. So she stood with Emma and Dots, waiting in the street lamp's circle of light with minimal conversation between them. Just as she began to shift anxiously, the sky darkening to the ashen brown of a full-fledged evening above them, the groaning of a cart grew in the distance. The street lights exposed a horse-drawn cart driven by nuns and Emma waved for them to stop.

"Yes, child?" The nun spoke softly. Emma sniffled. Aidan blinked. Dots disguised his laughter with a hearty cough.

"Can you help me?" Emma asked quietly, her large, dark eyes widening in hope at the nun, who responded with a serene smile in return. "My brother's in there an' he don't have his crutch to walk." She jerked the crutch from Aidan's grasp and held it up, reverently, in the light.

Aidan jumped forward with a gasp and gripped Emma's arm. "You can't lie to nuns!" Her voice scaled up with every syllable until Emma and the nuns grimaced. Aidan immediately apologized to the nuns, bowing slightly with her hands clasped for forgiveness. The nun nodded gently to Aidan who sighed heavily.

Emma spread her feet, hands on her hips and fixed Aidan with an indignant stare. "Why not?"

Aidan blinked. What is she, an idiot? She thought. "Because," Aidan insisted fervently, "that's like lying to God!"

Emma and Dots burst into laughter. Through her giggles Emma asked, "What do you think they are, his repr'sentatives?" It felt a little foolish but Aidan nodded dramatically.

"Children, what's going on?" Even if I did just act weird, you could stop calling me "child," Aidan reflected.

"They have a friend they want to get the crutch," Dots spoke up from the lamppost. The nun nodded to encourage him. "Some guy who just got in." The nun turned her gaze to the two girls, and Aidan had the sudden thought that she might pull out a ruler and smack them both. She should hit Emma 'fore me. I didn't lie at least, Aidan thought.

"We'll take it in for you." The nun must have seen Aidan and Emma's mouths open as she sent them a stern stare. They appropriately shut their mouths, and Emma handed the crutch to the nun. "Now, get home." The three dashed off into the shadows of the streets.

Once a few blocks away, kicking pebbles down the street amongst themselves, they looked to each other and grinned.

"Can't lie to a nun, Aidan?" Dots questioned. "What are you?"

Aidan furtively rolled her eyes before responding, "Catholic." She hoped it came off as confident as the echo in her head, although their chuckles told her otherwise.

"Practicin' catholic?" Emma quizzed.

Aidan stuck out her tongue. "Uh, yeah," she lied. Well, I would be if I had time, she defended. "Why? You got problem with it?" The two shook their heads, phantoms of laughter still rising occasionally at the confidence Aidan attempted to salvage. She groaned as Emma wrapped one arm around her shoulder and walked down the sidewalk with her.

"We should go hang out at the docks," she proposed happily. Dots hummed his agreement, and Aidan sighed her resignation. Her final thought of work was left at the first step onto the Brooklyn Bridge.

The waters mirrored the night scenery with impressionist style. The streetlamps and few hazy windows wrinkled across the water's surface, and the company added the rhythm of their own feet to the waves.

Aidan focused intensely on the pearls of water that dropped from her foot, hoping the strain would tune out the couple beside her. Emma, she forced herself to remember with a frown, does seem to like him. I guess it's to be expected. Still, she moved to her left and leaned on one of the wooden planks, concealing a small grin as it shouted under her weight. Emma pulled away with a unseen jump and fixed her friend with a stern stare.

"I'm not riskin' bein' weighted just so I can listen to you two…" Her grumblings dwindled with the soft waves. It's not too bad, she thought, cracking a splinter from the docks and tossing it to the water where she watched it ride away on the current. They're only kissin'. I could leave…she sighed.

"What you three doin' here?" Aidan took secret, sadistic pleasure in the way the couple sprang into the air. All three turned towards land. Aidan didn't know whether to say thanks or ask God if he hated her. Shadows nearly cloaked the lean figure at the end of the dock, but the lean strip of black extending from the person's hand spoke of one person.

"'Eya, Spot. What're you doin'?" Dots waved to the young man, who did not return the gesture and instead walked towards them.

"You're the one on my ter'tory," Spot replied with a hint of the darkness in his voice. He stopped a few feet from them. His cane tapped on the dock. "Didn't realize you two liked threesomes." A smirk sounded in his voice. Aidan's eyes widened, her mouth hanging ajar, and she fell into a shock-induced coma.

Emma chuckled. "No way, you're the only one who could get one of those." Spot appeared to enjoy the compliment as he tapped his cane once more and clasped it around the middle. He bobbed the golden-tipped tip in their direction.

"You didn't ask for permission," he pointed out coolly. The couple seemed embarrassed while Aidan's brow furrowed. They had to ask for permission for what, to be there? She looked around the docks, listening to the muted knocks of floating debris and tiny boats against the wood. Did he think it was a palace? Regardless, the couple dropped their friendly appearances and donned apologetic looks instead.

"Sorry," Dots muttered. It was obvious from his tone that he was trying to lighten the situation. "We figured you was in for the night. Didn't want to disturb you." Emma nodded in agreement and pinched Aidan's leg until she followed suit. Spot gave the young man a silent warning before he deftly ascended to the top of a tower of crates. He kicked aside a tattered net before sitting down, his cane held in his hand and his head held up that his silhouette reminded the audience of dark royalty, Brooklyn.

"You can stop starin'." Dots chuckled at Spot's wise-ass remark and Aidan realized that she and Emma had been the ones staring. Emma appeared less embarrassed as she leaned onto Dots' shoulder and gazed into the distance. Aidan, however, dropped her chin to her chest, trying to hide her tinted cheeks with a mix of hair and shadows.

They stayed on the docks until late that night, occasionally slicing the blanket of silence to add a patchwork of odd comments or off-beat jokes. Emma and Dots spoke the most, with a few smooth words slipped in from Spot. Eventually, feeling that she risked falling into the water from exhaustion, Aidan called it a night and waved goodbye to the trio.

* * *

Author's Note: Reviews feed my cats' souls. So...think of reviewing as a humanitarian thing to do. They'll love you for it. Haha.


	4. Finding Little

Author's Note: Not much to say really...I don't own newsies. Feel free to leave comments on your way out. :insert smile here:

* * *

Her shoulder's ached, her neck screeched for mercy and her legs wobbled under her as she tried to walk a straight line down the row. A coarse, flat strap gnawed at her neck with every motion. Weights hung from both ends of the strap, swinging back and forth to thump into her stomach with every step forward. On both sides, machines seemed to cheer for her misery with dull roars and metallic clanks.

Fifty paces. Fifty paces for being late. Aidan reached the end of the row and spun on her heel. Instantly, she regretted the action as the weight of her punishment spinning through the air pulled her off balance. She managed to stumble to a stop and avoided running into a little boy working at one of the thundering machines. The skin on her neck was scrapped raw, she knew, but she couldn't chance the overseer catching her moving the strap.

Fifteen minutes late and she'd been rewarded with weighting. The very thing she had worried about before walking to the docks with Emma. Damn Emma. Aidan cursed her friend every time the weights thudded against her stomach. It's all her fault, she repeated with every step.

It took her near close to seventy minutes to finish her fifty paces--a fact that Aidan attributed to the fact that the factory was impossibly long. After the overseer, Mr. Walsh, removed the weights and returned to his post, Aidan set to work. That wasted time put her behind schedule. They still charged her for the time she was there as though she used the machines so she had to work even faster to make more products in an attempt to not end up owing them money at the end of the day. The result: several more close calls, gashes and pricks.

"'ey. You. You. You!" Aidan glanced up, the side of her finger held to her mouth as she nursed a cut. "Yer bleedin'." She resisted the urge to send the boy an indignant stare. He lifted a small hand and pointed to his neck. Aidan mimicked him, feeling quite foolish as she blindly searched her neck, until she pulled her fingers away and saw a cherry film across the tips. "Figured you not wanna get it on it." He pointed to the fabric in her machine. Aidan nodded with an obliged smile and turned back to the whirring machine.

She turned in her products with nicked and burgundy striped hands but a satisfied relaxation. Mr. Walsh stored them with a grunt before shooing her away. She scampered outside, arms instantly wrapping around her body as the night air enveloped her. It wasn't cold but compared to the inside of the factory it felt as though she'd worked all the way into winter.

"Aidan." She turned around at her name and recognized a fellow worker, thirteen year old Eliza, resting against the corner of the building. Aidan walked over to her and took a space next to her. They stood in silence for a few minutes while Eliza worked in a cigarette. "Why was you late?" Aidan looked over at the girl.

"Stayed up late. Emma made me go to the docks with her," grumbled Aidan. Eliza amusement grew from a quiet giggle to raspy laughter.

"Make you, really? Dat don't sound like Emma." Eliza flicked the cigarette to the ground and brushed dirt over it with her foot. Aidan shifted, unwilling to acknowledge that she could've left, and instead shifted the conversation.

"When are you gonna get shoes? 'fore winter?" Dirt and grease blanketed the girl's feet. Eliza grinned.

"Yeah, me dad got a job--temp'rary--and he getting' money." With a shrug, she added, "So I gonna steal some to get shoes."

Aidan smiled faintly at the girl's good fortune. "What'll he be doin'?"

"Why would I know?" Eliza questioned blankly. After a few seconds of silence she continued, "Probably somethin' as a goon. He went 'bout findin' his bat, talkin' 'bout beatin' striker boys."

Aidan folded her arms, her brow furrowing, as she thought over the information. "The trolley strikers?" Eliza appeared to take it as a rhetorical question as she didn't respond. The two workers stood next to each other, lost in their own thoughts as the night crept on around them.

After a few minutes, Eliza rolled her eyes and said, slowly as if she spoke to a child, "Boy strikers. Boy. Boy. Boys. Striking. Come on, Aidan, you slow or what? The newsie strike." Aidan looked up abruptly, blinking. She had settled on the idea that the goons were pointed towards the trolley workers and hadn't bothered thinking any more of it, instead drifting to other topics (such as money and tomorrow's work).

Aidan stared at her in bewilderment. Questions bounced in her mind before she decided to say. "Why would you tell me?" Did she know that Aidan knew newsies? Did she want Aidan to warn them? What about her father's job--or pay?

"So, you can keep up in the conversation," Eliza replied. "Figured you not heard of it, bein' always workin' or sleepin'. An' for me to brag 'bout the job me dad got, you have to know what I talkin' 'bout." Aidan nodded, deciding not to say that she did know about the strike. Make me look stupid, she thought with dread. I need to tell 'em though… She let Eliza boast for a few minutes, nodding in agreement and letting her smile, before saying she was going to go home. Eliza nodded and waved as they parted ways.

Once around the corner, Aidan broke into a run--or what she could manage with her skirt and exhaustion. The only person she could think of was Emma. She had to have the answers. Reaching the bridge, she stopped, gasping and doubling over as her sides ached. She alternated between sprinting and hobbling across the Brooklyn Bridge until she reached the other end. She was definitely not in the best shape as she managed a weak jog towards her friend's work.

The windows of the shop were dark and--from what she could see through the lace window decorations--the place was deserted. She groaned loudly and stomped her foot in frustration before collapsing to the curb. Well, that was a giant was of time, she thought, propping her chin on her hand. Her mind flickered with nerves while her stomach pounded with painful tremors. She knew she needed to tell the newsies but the process of finding them was so long winded. Not to mention the fact that she had foolishly run in the opposite direction of their lodging house to find someone who probably wouldn't know the first thing about the place.

A short list of names repeated in her mind and each was followed by a reason to forget such a hope. She didn't know where Dots or Emma lived. If she knew where Racetrack, Blink or any of the other's lodged, she wouldn't even have a problem. She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, wincing as it brushed past her neck. She took a steady breath and stretched, feeling her frame shake, before standing slowly to her feet. She swayed for a moment and closed her eyes to find focus.

She began to wander the streets with the feeble hope that she'd somehow find Emma or Dots outside, although why they would be out at this time of night eluded her. She was careful to memorize her turns and worked to keep the Brooklyn Bridge visible to at least some degree. Only drunkards and the homeless seemed out, though she didn't find trouble with either--to her surprise. She ended up at the docks, staring across the river to the faint silhouette of Manhattan.

"'ey, ya bum." Something rapped Aidan on the side. She shot awake with a gasp. The sky still held strongly to its smoky black color above her. She mumbled a response and turned to see two figures faintly outlined in front of her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to discern who had awoken her. The water sloshed around the support beams to remind her where she was and she jumped to her feet. She managed a small grin of accomplishment when she managed to not wobble on her feet and looked at the two people who had found her.

"S-sorry. Fell asleep," she muttered. The shape she figured to be a boy gave a sarcastic, short laugh.

"I can see that. Why are you here?" He questioned. Aidan frowned. Her mind had finally succumbed to the exhaustion and was unwilling to work now that it had gotten a taste of sleep. She looked down and stared at the boy's hand; it was holding a cane. The image, minus the girl he held to him, looked familiar to her, and she leaned forward, squinting at the young man's face. "What are you doin'?" Aidan immediately stopped and felt her face lighting up in embarrassment.

"Sorry." She stepped back. "Uh. Nothing. Nothing. Just, uh, tired." She ran her hand up and down her arm nervously while shifting on her feet. The boy's companion leaned against him and whispered something in his ear. As the fog in her mind cleared, something snapped in her. "Do you where Manhattan lodge is?" The boy didn't respond but shifted his head enough that Aidan could glimpse a smirk in the feeble light.

"Of course I do," he replied. "Why?"

"Can you do me where it is?" The female companion chuckled dryly at Aidan's eloquence.

"Nah." Aidan stared at him incredulously--or as incredulously as she could manage through her haze of fatigue.

"Why?" She whined.

"Why you needs to know?" She was far too tired to note the suggestive ring in his voice.

"'cause. Need tell what goons to do." Again the companion laughed. "To Race and Bush and Blink. Tomorrow." A heavy piece of debris knocked on of the support poles, causing the dock to jerk beneath them, and Aidan tripped. The young man reached out and tapped her with his cane, negating her movement and causing her to take a step away from the edge.

"I already know what's gonna happen tomorrow. What kinda Brooklyn would I be, if I didn't?" Aidan blinked at him. "So, go away. I'm busy." Aidan, still dazed, nodded quietly and left the couple at the docks.

* * *

Author's Note: I researched the forms of punishment for child workers back then. "Weighting" (what Aidan went through) was commonly used as a punishment for not reaching quotas or for being late to work. It was commonly used so the other children would see and "take example." The amount of time walking whiled "weighted" would vary but could last up to an hour and often caused serious injuries in the back and/or neck. There's a little bit o' 'istory for ya. :)


	5. As the King

Author Notes: I apologize for the timeline glitches. I watched the movie again and realized that one part of my story (previous chapters) didn't match up with the storyline. I can't find a way to reconcile this problem, though, so I'm going to ask for you to temporarily suspend disbelief—or that voice in your head that picks out every fault. :) I promise to work harder from now on to make sure the timing is correct. Thank you!

* * *

"We don't know who we are until we see what we can do." –Martha Grimes.

Our printed trophy passed around the room like a picture of a pretty girl, everyone looking closely, laughing or bragging and joking amongst themselves before someone else yanked it to another table. I didn't bother to chase after the pape, or demand that it come to me. It would end at our table, and I could be patient—for the most part. Instead, I focused on swirling the dark liquid in my class, my attention straying from the conversation at hand. The walkin' mouth was busy talking to the pape reporter. He leaned in towards the man like he was his father or somethin'. Kelly was loungin' in the corner of the booth and the runt sat across from him, next to me, actually, runnin' his mouth. I didn't really like the kid, but he wasn't annoyin' enough to rap him with my cane or nothin'.

Race joined the table when he pulled up a chair. Two second later, he had his cigar out and lit. I almost laughed at the look the pape man gave him as Race exhaled the first cloud.

"Ya feelin' good, Race?" I asked with a smirk. I tilted my head to the side.

Race chuckled and said, "Never better. Like I won the lucky three." I grinned and rubbed the top of my cane with my thumb. I could always count of Race for a laugh and a gamblin' reference. That and, for the most part, a good source of money if I felt lucky 'nough to make him a bet. We didn't see each other much, bein' Brooklyn through and through, but Kelly's bunch wasn't bad.

"Ya got the lucky three, Race," Kelly broke in with his grin. "Me, Spot and Davey." He must've seen my look at him. He was right to put me in the three. Without me, Brooklyn, they'd've been still playin' with the goons or worse, at the refuge. The walkin' mouth seemed nervous to be in the top three. I don't know that Kelly was right 'bout the boy, but he at least seemed smart enough to know who ruled. Another round of drinks came 'round, and the pape man gave the waiter a bill to cover it. Kelly should've invited all the newsie leaders to Tibby's for the reporter to cover. They would've joined then, seein' a man with the money to pay for 'em. They would've thought he'd pay for everythin'. I ordered a sandwich and told the waiter to put it on the pape man's bill. He didn't seem to like the idea, but I gave him a look to dare him to deny me.

"We need the rally to show that we're united and that we are a force to be reckoned with." The pape man was explainin' somethin' to Davey. Davey nodded. I knew exactly how to do this, of course. Nothin' shows power like some good ol' soakin'. Fists mean more, demand more, get more. I'm proof of this. No one challenges Spot Conlon. Why? Because I'd beat 'em and put 'em in their place. I have the power.

I'm not surprised such wise-guys like Davey don't seem to get this idea. It'll take a while, but I know they'll get it. No one lives on the street and survives without some healthy fightin'.

"The more united you are, the more the rich men realize the threat. Not only to the papers." Davey kept noddin', and I ended up leavin' with Race to a table where w could play some craps.

"So, Race, are ya hopin' a boy will pick ya as his date to the rally?" I couldn't resist. Race rolled his eyes, and he tossed the dice.

"Yeah, I was hopin' you'd ask me," he replied dryly. Mush and Kid Blink laughed while Skittery slouched in the corner of the booth.

"You twos might as well go together. There ain't no girls 'round here anyway," he mumbled. I was tempted to rap him with my cane for such a statement. Not the girl one, the one 'bout how we couldn't find a real girl to go with, anyway. I never need a girl to take, first o' all. And second, if I set on one, I have no problems getting' her. He's lucky he wasn't one of my boys. I would've at least lightly tapped him with my cane if he was.

Race was laughing beside me. Along with Mush and Kid Blink. It was my turn to roll the dice. I randomly tossed them onto the table and half played. Craps was never my thing, really, I just wanted an escape from the other table. At that moment a boy walked by with our pape, and I grabbed it from him. He turned to complain, but stopped when he saw who it was. I shot him a look, and he kept on his way. Race complained loudly as I began to read the article and look over the picture. Somethin' about me not "focusin'" on the game and "bein' a lazy bum." I didn't care. He ended up skippin' me. I thought about warning him to never skip Spot Conlon, but the pape man stood up at that moment and said a few parting words. Then he walked out.

I rejoined Kelly at the table to see my sandwich waiting for me. I smirked and pushed it to the side. Now that the rich man was gone, we could really talk about the things that mattered. Scabs, soakin', that sort of thing. The thing that the pape man would've known nothin' 'bout.

"So, Kelly, how we gonna take care of the scabs?" I didn't skip 'round the subject like some girl. Kelly still had a grin on his face, but it sombered, and he leaned forward.

"Right, we needs to discuss that—'

"Oh, am I intruding?" We looked over to see the pape man had returned. But this time he brought a girl with him. She looked nervous and embarrassed (her face was all red), and I couldn't help but find it entertainin'.

"Yeah," I replied. He ignored me as Davey talked over me to say that he was interrupting nothin'.

"This is Aidan. I invited her to join you when I saw her at the riot looking for one of the newsies. Who was it you were looking for again?" He turned to the girl and I seriously thought she might faint or somethin'. She turned from red as a tomato to dead white in two seconds and shook her head nervously.

"N-no. It doesn't matter. I-I s-should go." She tried to step away but couldn't with the reporter's hand on her back. I laughed. It was probably the nice thing to do, laugh at her. At least she got her color back, even if it was too much red. Davey might have given me a look, but I didn't care. It was funny. She was hardly pretty enough to be polite to. Her hair was brown and tangled and her dress was stained and fraying at the edges. Even her eyes were a dirty brown.

The kid, Kelly's follower, leaned forward and smiled. "I remember you! You're Digger!" His honest happiness seemed to make her a little bit better. She smiled at least. I wouldn't have recommended such an action though. It made her lips almost disappear, and she only ended up looking worse. A shame, I thought, since Race had been joking about girls only to have this one walk in.

"Well, I'm glad you know her. I hope you will make friends." The reporter had to force the girl into his seat. "I have to go to work, now." And he left again. I watched him until he disappeared, just to make sure that he was actually gone this time.

"I'm David. That's Kelly, Spot and uh, that's my little brother, Les."

"She obviously already knows yer brother, wise-guy," I said, running my thumb over the top of my cane. I smirked as he shifted in his seat and frowned at me.

"So, you're Digger?" She nodded. "Are you a newsie?" She shook her head furiously, and I frowned at the way she seemed appalled by the idea. David didn't seem to care, though, as he grinned. "Makes sense. I bet your parents wouldn't want you to be a newsie. Some parents are just weird with their preferences, ya know?" I'd commend him on his willingness to try and get her to talk, but, that said, he was pathetic. Obviously, she didn't want to talk. I doubted she'd have anythin' interestin' to say anyway.

"Yeah." The girl had to clear her throat, as though she hadn't talked in a long time.

"Yeah. My parents are like that to. Not about newsies, though, but mostly 'bout factory work. They're adamantly against me going into factory work." That's another thing I knew he was good at: talkin' too much. He may not have noticed it, but she shifted when he said that. Obviously, he couldn't tell the markers of a factory girl. I smirked, folded my arms and relaxed. I wanted to watch this. "What do you do, though, if you're not a newsie? How'd you get the nickname?"

"I, uh, I work at a clothin' store. Sellin', uh, hats and scarves and…uh, that," she said.

"And Snipesshooter named her," Les jumped in to explain. "He says he saw her diggin' in the dirt for a penny to give to the strike." Her face, which had calmed, flushed again at Jack's laughter.

"Well, thank ye, lady." I thought it a bit over to be callin' her a lady but didn't say anythin'. Davey seemed interested in her, and me and Kelly started our own conversation while they started talkin'. Talkin' to Kelly was easy for the most part. We understood each other, and we both held enough power to respect each other. So, we listened more than usual. He jumped from topic to topic most of the time, but at least he wasn't acting all hoity-toity like the mouth did. I still had yet to trust him. He acted like he knew so much more than us, just because he'd read some books. Still, I knew better than to say anything against him. There'd be no point to sayin' something at a restaurant unless I just wanted to start some kind of girly fight. I could listen to his thoughts and wait until we were in front of all the newsies. With them on my side, because they knew the rules of the streets like I did, I could get enough support to squash his "no violence" idea. I just had to wait.

Me and Jack talked about the other boroughs, their leaders and which ones we were worried about. Some we didn't know on friendly terms. We'd have to be extra careful to keep 'em from scabbin' on us. We both knew that bein' on strike would leave us vulnerable. Especially for me. If it didn't go well, Jack could still lean on the loyalty of his newsies. Brooklyn wasn't as girly as that. This was a risk for me, and I was resting on Jack's determination and the commitment of his newsies as much as my own power and reputation. If he didn't win this, I'd soak him myself.

Jack ended up sending out some newsies to spread the word 'bout the rally, and I rounded up the leftovers of my boys to head back to Brooklyn. I shook hands with him a final time outside Tibby's as our boys were all leavin' with us.

"Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. At Irving Hall," Jack said as me and the other Brooklyn newsies started headin' home. I didn't bother to say anything. It was already obvious we would be comin'. He just had to make sure that the others did as well.

* * *

Don't forget to leave a review! They feed me, and I'm a poor college student. And critique or constructive criticism is taken in for warm soup and a fluffy blanket of love!

P.S. This was Spot's perspective, because I felt like switching it up. Not everything can focus on Aidan. :] I'm sorry it's short, though.


End file.
